


It's a Sign

by AmyTheEleventh



Series: Does He Know The Way I Worship [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Matt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyTheEleventh/pseuds/AmyTheEleventh
Summary: But what can be said of an unholy man out to play God?





	It's a Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Well well well, look at the bitch's who's back after four years. Y'all probably thought I abandoned this huh? Nope. Part two has been sitting unfinished in my google docs since 2016, haunting me. This probably sucks, but I tried, I really did. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Feels good to write again. 
> 
> General disclaimers from Part 1 apply. On with the show.

Foggy doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s been finding himself in the pews of Mass more Sunday afternoons than not lately. 

He’s not sure what he’s looking for - answers, forgiveness, guidance; maybe he’s just hoping The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen will stay away from him if he’s holy enough, like he’s a monster under Foggy’s bed that’s afraid of the light. All he knows is that the Devil hasn’t been respecting his request from months ago; if he doesn’t try to talk to Foggy, he follows him home from work, silently watching, but if Foggy pays attention he can see the man’s shadow in the dim street lights as he makes his way along the rooftops. It’s unnerving. Mostly because Foggy can’t do a damned thing about it.

They talk. Sometimes Foggy comes close to giving in. Sometimes the conversation ends with Foggy screaming and the Devil running off laughing into the night.

“Something troubling you, son?” Foggy looks up.

“Father Lantom,” he says quickly; he’s never spoken to the man before, but he recognizes him  immediately. “Uh-” Aw, hell. “Well, I guess the technical answer is yes, but-”

“Say no more,” Father says gently, sitting in the pew in front of Foggy and turning to face him. “Let me guess: you don’t find your problems to be significant enough to discuss?” Foggy pauses for a moment, but he can't help but let out an airy laugh. Insignificant? Not really. Ridiculous and unbelievable? Definitely.

“I mean-...” Foggy isn't sure what to say.

“The Lord welcomes problems big and small,” Father Lantom says. “Nothing too insignificant. Especially if it troubles you so.”

“I wouldn't know where to start, Father,” Foggy says, a guilty smile on his face. How does he tell a holy man that The Devil’s been pursuing him?

“Well, if you ever gather your thoughts and would like to talk, you know where to find me,” the man says gently, and he gives Foggy a kind smile before stepping away.  
  


-   
  


Foggy finds himself on a bench after he leaves the church. He’s always liked Hell’s Kitchen on days like these: overcast, chilly, quiet. Mass is over, everyone’s all gone home, and the quiet sidewalks offer a silent comfort as Foggy mulls his thoughts.

_ “Please don't be angry with me, darling.” _

_ “I already told you to fuck off. How hard is that to understand?” _

_ “Foggy-... Foggy, please just listen to me-” _

_ “There's nothing to be said. You  _ kill  _ people-” _

_ “ _ Bad  _ people-” _

_ “And you're a killer all the same.” _

“Afternoon.” Foggy startles and looks up.

“Hello, father,” he says. The man looks much less grand without a pulpit. “Good afternoon. I was just-”

“Thinking?” Lantom offers. “May I sit?” Foggy nods, scooting over on the bench to make room. “I didn't catch your name last time, son.”

“Franklin,” Foggy says automatically. “But, uh- most everyone calls me Foggy. Family nickname.”

“Foggy,” Father Lantom repeats. “Well, Foggy. Are you any closer to gathering your thoughts?” And Foggy doesn't have an answer for that.

“I think they're more scattered than last time actually,” Foggy confesses.

“I see,” Lantom muses. “Have coming to the services been helping with your… Problem?”

“They've given me something to think about,” Foggy murmurs, and a thought pops into his head. “Father… Do you believe in the Devil?”

“I believe he is as real as the Lord himself,” Lantom replies.

“Do you think-... Do you think he's here? On earth?” The man makes a face, but his expression lapses back into the same serene look quickly.

“I believe it’s possible,” the Father says. “The Devil, Foggy… He can exist in many forms. Temptation, lust, greed. He walks among us every day in the challenges we face.”

“But is that all he is?” Foggy presses. “A concept?” Father Lantom gives Foggy a look from the side of his eye.

“Anything is possible,” he finally responds. “The Lord once walked among his people as a mere mortal; it would be foolish to believe Lucifer cannot and would not do the same. He was once God’s most trusted angel, after all.” Foggy doesn't say anything to that. “Does this have anything to do with Hell’s Kitchen’s very own Devil?” Foggy startles at the question, but lets out a quick laugh.

“Guess I wasn't being very subtle,” he confesses. The Father lets out his own amused laugh before continuing.

“Are you fearful, son?” He asks. “Have you done something that you think has angered him?” Foggy has to bite back a bitter laugh at the concept.

“No,” he says quickly. “No, actually-... I was attacked back in December coming home from work. I should have died, but- someone was there. To save me. I thought it was an angel, Father, I really did- but-”

“Your savior was the Devil himself,” Lantom says, as if he's tasting the words on his tongue. Foggy cringes.

“... Yes.”

“He showed you a mercy afforded to very few, it seems,” Lantom suggests, and something The Devil has said pops into Foggy’s head.

“...I've spoken to him,” Foggy admits. “He told me-... He told me he doesn't kill good people. Just criminals. People out to hurt others.”

“But what can be said of an unholy man out to play God?”

-

Foggy doesn’t head home for a long while after that. Father Lantom stayed to chat for a good half hour once the topics moved from subjects so dark. But even after he was alone again, feeling lighter than he had in weeks, Foggy’s mind was still on The Devil. 

And wouldn't you know, it's getting dark. Foggy wonders manically if he sits here long enough will he turn to stone. 

Foggy finally gets up and stretches, bones cracking satisfyingly. Sitting on a bench for hours on end wasn't a kind idea for his body, but it was good for his soul. He sets off towards home, guided by the street lamps, checking his phone as he goes. He feels guilty when he sees Karen’s multiple messages of worry. 

“ _ Hello?!”  _

“Karen,” Foggy says, sighing, shoving a hand into his pocket. “Hey, sorry, look-” 

“ _ Where the hell have you been all afternoon?!”  _

“Church,” Foggy says quickly. “Literally, just- I needed some time to clear my head. I've just been sitting out in front of the church. Spoke to Father Lantom for a bit.” Foggy doesn't like to talk about the Devil thing with Karen. She likes to psychoanalyze and he's not stable enough for that. 

“ _ Oh? Anything in particular?”  _

“Just-... No, not really. Sorry for worrying you, though.” 

“ _ It’s okay. Hey, I’m actually about to go grab a bite, do you wanna come? _ ” That’s when Foggy hears it: a quiet thud just a few feet behind him, so soft that if he senses haven’t been set in overdrive for  _ months _ he would never have noticed. 

“I’ll pass tonight,” Foggy says carefully. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t turn around. “Sitting around on a stone around all day is more tiring than it looks. See you tomorrow?” 

“ _ Bye, Fog _ .” 

“Have you found the answers you’ve been seeking through the church?” Foggy sighs as he feels a presence speeds up and make pace next to him. 

“Not particularly,” Foggy answers truthfully. He considers for a half second ignoring the Devil, a wild impulse that has proven time and time again to be ineffective. 

“Father Lantom is a good man,” the Devil says absently, and Foggy would comment on that, except-

“Have you been watching me all day?” 

“Hell’s Kitchen has been quiet today. Nothing our friendly neighbor officers can’t handle.”  
  
“So that’s a yes?” 

“That’s a yes.” The smile is evident in the Devil’s voice.

“In that case, I should be fine to walk home alone,” Foggy grumbles, not that he thinks _ that’  _ going to work. “Since it’s been so quiet and all.”

“It’s been a while since we talked,” The Devil says. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“But you’ve been listening to me all day,” Foggy points out.

“But it’s so much more special when I have your full attention.” Foggy just groans. The guy is incorrigible.

“I don’t know where you think this conversation is going to get you,” Foggy finally says after walking a few more feet. “We both know it’s going to end with me telling you to fuck off, and you disappearing into the night like a more handsome Batman-”

“You think I’m handsome?” Foggy just groans.

“Not the point.”

“I’m flattered, darling,” the Devil purrs, stepping closer. “I knew you’d warm up to me eventually.”

“Fuck off.”

“So this is the part where I run off into the night?”

“Look at you, catching on.” The Devil laughs at that, a sweet, musical sound, and Foggy almost smiles when it cuts off suddenly. His blood runs cold.

“There’s an alley a past this building,” The Devil says quietly, only talking to Foggy. His voice has changed. It’s deep, gruff. Commanding. “There’s three of them, hiding behind a dumpster. I need you to stay behind me- Don’t say a word.” The Devil cuts him off mid breath; moves his head for a moment as if he’s looking around, then nudges Foggy in the opposite direction towards a couple of garbage cans.  _ Hide _ . And well - Foggy doesn’t find this to be the appropriate time to argue.

Foggy crouches, and it’s silent for a few heartbeats. He peeks out from his hiding spot to watch the Devil sneak around the corner of the building, footing sure and muscles tensed. There’s a moment of silence after he disappears.

Then chaos.

Looking back, it couldn’t have been that loud, Foggy reasons. It must have been the adrenaline; one vigilante and a few street thugs can’t make that much noise.

But right now the fight unfolding in the street is all that Foggy can focus on, and he holds his breath to listen as cracking bones and agonized moans echo off brick walls. He wants to run: it’s not safe here, he could be in danger, there could be more villainous characters lurking about; but suddenly there’s a sickening  _ crunch _ , and Foggy realizes that he’s safer tucked behind The Devil and out of sight of the world.

The night falls silent again, still. Foggy doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He rests his head on the brick wall and keeps his eyes squeezed shut.

“Darling?” Foggy doesn’t move. He’s frozen himself into the night. “Darling, come. It’s over now. Let’s get you home.” A gentle touch on his elbow shocks him enough to get him moving. The Devil smiles gently; his movements are slow and measured as he guides Foggy up off the ground, tucking him closer to his side, all the while murmuring quiet nonsense to soothe Foggy’s nerves. It only makes him more wound up.

“Did you kill them?” It’s the only thing Foggy can force himself to say. He’s not looking at The Devil, but he  _ swears  _ he can feel the air shift between them.

“A innocent citizen was in danger,” he answers after a beat of silence. “I did what had to be done.”

“You’re going to leave them there?”

“It’s where they belong.”

“They were  _ people _ ,” Foggy says petulantly, but his voice is high and uneven. The Devil stops, and as tucked against him as he is, Foggy stops, too. When he speaks again, the Devil’s voice is even and calm, but tight.

“You’ve no idea,” he says. “The evil people hold in their hearts.”

“I’ve got an inclination,” Foggy says, squirming under the Devil’s arm and pointed stare.

“Then you understand why-”

“I understand you killed three people just now,” Foggy cuts in. “You had no idea what they were planning and you  _ killed  _ them-”

“Don’t  _ doubt _ me,” the Devil growls, and suddenly he’s in Foggy’s face and even though they’re roughly the same height, Foggy feels significantly smaller. “You have no  _ idea _ what I’ve protected this city from- what I’ve protected  _ you  _ from.”

Maybe it’s the shock; the Devil’s only ever been gentle with Foggy, but now he can feel the heat behind that gaze - a gaze that, for the first time, Foggy realizes he can’t see. The mask isn’t new, but how is Foggy just now realized that those eyes are covered?

“O-... okay,” Foggy says, voice shaking. “I’m sorry.” But the Devil doesn’t seem interested in apologies.

“Go home,” he orders, voice hard. And Foggy does.

-

**_GANG MEMBERS FOUND SLAUGHTERED_ **

**_THE DEVIL’S AT WORK_ **

**_HELL’S KITCHEN ON HIGH ALERT_ **

Foggy’s stomach rolls. His morning coffee doesn't seem so appealing now. The police photos from the crime scenes are bad enough. Foggy can only imagine the gruesome descriptions the articles hold.

“Anything goes these days,” he mutters to himself, Karen babbling steadily beside him. 

“And besides, if we take the Fink case, then- wait, what?” 

“Hm? Oh, nothing,” Foggy says, turning his head sharply away from the news stand. “Fink case, go.” 

-

Foggy’s on his patio when he hears it. 

“Hello again.” The voice is soft and musical again, much different from the anger Foggy experienced from him several days ago. He wonders idly where the Devil’s been all this time.

Foggy turns his head in the direction of his guest, but can’t bring himself to say anything for a moment. “... You were right.” The Devil doesn’t respond, so Foggy continues. “Gang members,” he says. “You killed them because they were going to jump us-  _ me _ . And you knew this… how, exactly?” 

“I hear things, darling,” the Devil says, quiet. “Things I wish I didn’t. Things I wish I couldn’t.” 

“But you do,” Foggy says. “ _ How _ ?” 

“Are you not content with the answer that I was created this way? The Devil I have always been and will always be?” 

“No.”  

“I’m sorry,” the Devil sighs. “I do wish I had a better answer for you.” The silence hangs between them like a weight. Foggy feels like he’s going to suffocate. 

“If that’s all-” 

“It’s not,” the Devil says, and something in his tone piques Foggy’s interested. He looks into his face for the first time since he arrived on Foggy’s porch. 

“I’m listening.” 

“You put away Wilson Fisk last year,” the Devil states. “The most powerful man in New York, and you defeated him in battle.” 

Foggy’s skin prickles. A battle is different than a war. 

“Been reading up on me?” Foggy asks, trying to ease his own racing pulse. The half of the Devil’s face Foggy can see is sympathetic. His lips are turned down, his jaw tight. 

“He’s been directing his men from prison,” the Devil says. “There’s a plan in motion. You’re-... you’re in danger. You. Karen Page. Anyone that helped you. There’s a hit out. Fisk is going to kill you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Hate it? The end was kind of weak in my opinion. Oh well. Nothing's perfect. See y'all in another four years.


End file.
